


when i watch the world burn (all i think about is you)

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Apocalypse, Childhood Friends, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, New Year's Eve, Oblivious Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: It's New Year's Eve, and the world is ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 206
Collections: Bellarke Bingo





	when i watch the world burn (all i think about is you)

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't actually write this with bellarke bingo in mind but it fits some of my squares so why not. Tropes filled are - childhood friends, clarke pov, oblivious pining and cuddling.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the sky is burning.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Clarke thought she’d be getting ready for a party right now, or writing out a list of resolutions that she’ll fail to achieve with the best of intentions. It’s supposed to be the night where anything is possible, where her mistakes don’t feel important because there’s a chance to start fresh, even if that feeling only lasts a few hours.

Instead, she sits on her rooftop, unable to tear her gaze from the brilliant red of the horizon, though they’ve all been warned to stay indoors. Clarke doesn’t see the point—it’s the end of the world whether she cowers in her room or sits out here, breathing in the smoke.

It’s the middle of the night, but somehow it’s almost as bright as daylight.

_Spend your last hours with your loved ones_ , the news had warned, right before power had been cut completely. Clarke doesn’t know where her Mom and Marcus are – they went on their honeymoon a week ago, and last Clarke heard was they were trying to get a flight back as soon as possible. It’s obvious now it isn’t going to happen. The world is ending, it’s New Year’s Eve, and she’s completely alone.

She could call a friend probably, and anyone would keep her company, out of pity, if nothing else. But honestly, there’s only one person she would want to spend her last hours with, and he’s an hour away, spending the apocalypse with _his_ loved ones – his sister, and her husband, and their daughter.

She taps out a text to him, though the last four remain unread, her phone informing her that they were unable to be delivered.

**Bellamy**

**Today** 10:58pm

**I can’t get hold of Mom or Marcus, and the power is out now. (!)**

_Not Delivered_

**I hope you and Octavia are okay (!)**

_Not Delivered_

11:13pm

**I don’t know why I’m sending this message when you obviously can’t get them. (!)**

_Not Delivered_

**I guess I’m just scared, and I’m alone, and I don’t know what to do without you (!)**

_Not Delivered_

11:36pm

**I love you. I just wanted you to know that. (!)**

_Not Delivered_

She’s not going to cry. She’s absolutely not going to cry. She’s not thinking about all the opportunities she missed, all the chances she didn’t take. She’s not thinking about how she wishes she could spend her last moments wrapped up in his arms.

So it’s the end of the world. So what? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. So she didn’t make something of herself like she always thought she would. It’s insignificant now. All she can do is sit here and snap pictures, and maybe somehow her phone will make it through this, and maybe by some miracle there will be people who survive this, and those photos will become part of history. If she’s going to die alone, at least she can hope she’ll be of some use to the survivors of humanity.

“It’s the end of the world, and you’re still on your phone?” comes his teasing voice.

Clarke looks up, and there he is, climbing from her balcony onto the roof. A million emotions hit her at once—relief, affection, guilt, regret. She swallows them down before she can choke on them.

“Bellamy?” she croaks out, lowering her phone. “What are you doing here?”

He crawls over to her, sitting down beside her. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yeah, but—shouldn’t you be with Octavia? This is it, Bell.”

“They said to spend your final hours with your loved ones.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’m no one’s loved one.” Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t cry.

“Would I really be here if you weren’t?” he says wryly. Clarke shrugs. She looks away from him. “I tried to call you,” he says. “When it finally hit that we didn’t have much time left.”

“Me too,” Clarke says. “I sent you a few messages.” She turns back to him. “You don’t have to be here, you know,” she says. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. You’re still my best friend. But Octavia’s your family, not me.”

Bellamy looks thoughtful for a moment. “I was with Octavia, and Lincoln, and Indy. And I found myself wishing I had that. A wife, and a baby. My own family.”

Clarke swallows. She knows how that feels all too well. She lies down so she doesn’t have to look at him. Doesn’t want to start sobbing at the thought of never getting it with _him_. He follows her lead, lying down beside her. They look up at the sky, navy blue, streaked with red and gold and grey. Spectacular, and terrifying.

“It’s too late now,” Clarke murmurs.

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “I kind of—thought I should leave them be. I felt like an intruder.”

“And you came here, like an idiot. You’re supposed to stay inside. It’s dangerous out there. All kinds of crazies doing weird shit because they can get away with it.”

Bellamy laughs, and Clarke’s stomach tightens. She hopes that’s the last sound she hears. How he can sound so carefree at a time like this, Clarke doesn’t know. She’s never felt so despairing, her heart so heavy. Though she has to admit it does feel lighter now that he’s here.

“Your concern is touching,” Bellamy says.

“Never let it be said that I was totally unfeeling.”

“I know you’re not.”

His sincerity embarrasses her. She never could take a compliment, not even from him. Not even something as simple as _I know you’re not completely unfeeling_.

“Shut up,” she mutters.

“You didn’t let me finish my story.”

“What story?”

“About why I came here.”

“I thought it was because you wanted to give Octavia some space, and I was the only loser you knew would be spending the apocalypse alone.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been impossible since you’ve known me—twenty years?”

“Twenty-one.”

“It’s not like I can change now. I’m set in my ways.”

Bellamy lets out an exasperated huff. “Will you just let me finish?” 

Clarke turns her head, just a little, to glance at him. He’s not really annoyed. He likes to pretend he can be mad at her, but in twenty-one years she’s never known him to hold a grudge against her for more than a couple of minutes. And now isn’t exactly the time to be creating new grudges anyway.

“Fine,” Clarke says, holding back a smile as she turns her head back to look at the sky. “Tell me the rest.”

He’s silent, for too long, and Clarke wonders if he’s decided not to tell it after all.

“This is going to sound ridiculous,” he says, finally. “But you know what I couldn’t stop thinking about? What my mind wouldn’t stop playing over in my final hours?”

“What?”

He hesitates again. “Remember when we were kids—I think I was about ten, so you must have been like—eight?” Clarke remains silent. She’s not sure where he’s going with this. “You made me marry you. You had this little white flower girl dress, must have been for some family friend, and you put one of your dad’s jackets on me. Which was _way_ too big,” Bellamy laughs, and Clarke screws up her nose, remembering it vividly. “And a tie too, which your dad had to retie for me, because you had no idea what you were doing.”

“Well, I was only eight.”

“You made Wells perform the ceremony,” Bellamy says, his voice fond. “He was so jealous. He wanted to be the one you were marrying. And I complained about the whole thing, like I hated it, but I still refused to swap with him.”

“You were an asshole, even then,” Clarke grins.

“I was a terrible husband,” Bellamy admits. “Luckily you divorced me three hours later. We were definitely better as friends than as a couple.” With those words, Clarke’s smile drops, and she remembers the world is ending. But at least she’s spending it with her best friend, right?

“Why on earth were you thinking about that, anyway?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy shrugs. “Guess that’s the closest I ever came to a serious relationship,” he snorts. “Pathetic, right?”

“Better than playing all your regrets over and over in your head until you die,” Clarke sighs.

“You have a lot?”

“A few.”

“Me too.”

Silence stretches between them, and instead of replaying her regrets again, Clarke lets herself enjoy the moment with him, because it very well may be their last.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, his voice like gravel. He shifts slightly, and Clarke feels his fingers dances against hers. She opens her palm and lets his hand slip into hers, her heart in her throat, her stomach flip-flopping all over the place. “I don’t want to have any more regrets.”

She turns her head to face him, and he’s already looking at her, lying on his side, and she feels like she could drown in the look he’s giving her. “I don’t want to spend my last moments with anyone but you. I’m in love with you,” he whispers. “I just wanted you to know that.”

A tear rolls down Clarke’s cheek, and she lets out a sob. Bellamy’s thumb is quick to her cheek, brushing away the tears that fall.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hurriedly, guilt etched across his face. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to take it back?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Don’t take it back. I love you too. I—” she shakes her head again. Bellamy smiles sadly. He brings her hand to his lips, kisses her, so light Clarke might have imagined it.

“Why are you crying?” he says. “We’re in love at the end of the world.”

“Aren’t you sad?” she says, her voice watery. “We have hours, minutes maybe, until we’re all dead.”

“At least we don’t have to live without each other.”

“We should’ve had more time,” Clarke says. She swallows the rest of her tears. “To be in love.”

“Is twenty-one years not enough?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Eons wouldn’t be enough.”

“Next time I’ll tell you sooner,” Bellamy promises. “Next time we won’t waste any time.”

“Next time?”

“You don’t think we’ll get a next time? You don’t think we’ve done all this before, on some distant, parallel universe? I’m sure this isn’t the first time I’ve watched the world end. It’s not the first time I’ve loved you. I doubt it’s going to be the last.” He smiles, though his eyes are full of tears.

“You’re so sappy,” Clarke says, heart full.

“But you love me.”

“Yeah. I love you. Now kiss me already.”

He grins, and rolls on top of her, bringing his mouth down on hers as his hands come to cup her face. Clarke’s head spins, and her heart races, goosebumps erupting all over her skin with the intensity of his kiss. She loses track of space and time, and the world could have ended already and she wouldn’t know it, and it wouldn’t matter. At least she got to experience this.

Something explodes in the sky, and Bellamy pulls away, both of them turning their attention back to the sky. Clarke expects to see meteors, or balls of fire, or bombs, or something equally terrifying. But it’s fireworks. Bursts of colour fill the sky, adding to the already eerie brilliance of the night.

“Happy New Year,” Clarke murmurs.

“Happy New Year,” Bellamy repeats.

They watch the fireworks, curled up in each other, clinging to each other, until the display ends, and they go back to kissing, between whispering secrets to each other until the world goes dark around them.


End file.
